


The Sleeping Dragon Chronicler

by AmazingGraceless



Series: The Sleeping Dragon Chronicler’s Archives [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Relationships, Gen, Slice of Life, hogwarts school newspaper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmazingGraceless/pseuds/AmazingGraceless
Summary: One of the lesser known bits of Hogwarts campus life is the school newspaper. The year is 1992, and with a new DADA professor, a crash in the Whomping Willow, the Slytherin Quidditch team acquiring new brooms, and a school legend come to life, the staff is scrambling to keep up. But after a new recruit is attacked by the Heir of Slytherin, bringing the perp to justice is personal.
Series: The Sleeping Dragon Chronicler’s Archives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175207





	1. The Old Newsroom

For Emma Vanity, there was no greater joy or sorrow than when she entered the Great Hall on the first Saturday of the year. Slytherin was off to a great lead, seeing as Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley had gone and gotten themselves stuck in the Whomping Willow and lost Gryffindor some House Points. She was not opposed to Potter, but she did find the Headmaster's little stunt last year demeaning. They'd deserved those points, in her mind.

Quidditch practice that morning had gone rather well. For all that she disliked Malfoy (for who didn't dislike sniveling first-years, and especially Emma, with her muggle father, but that was a different tale) she did rather appreciate the polished Nimbus 2001 now sitting in her dormitory, locked and enchanted away in her trunk. Then again, she did not appreciate the skirmish that had gone down that had ended in slugs being vomited up by Weasley— Emma could have done without that detail.

But all the same, this was the part of her day she had both been dreading and looking forward to. Standing under the poster she'd placed on Thursday night were several returning third, fourth, fifth, and sixth-years, huddled with the fresh faces of eager first-years and nervous second-years.

Standing in front of them all was Andrew, his white-blonde hair sticking out everywhere like the feathers of the snowy owl that gave his family there surname. Despite his unkempt exterior, his posture and voice were still perfectly well-mannered.

"And that would be our editor-in-chief," Andrew declared. "Everyone, this is Emma Vanity. As our returning members know, she's also a Slytherin, and a star Chaser on the Quidditch team."

"Don't worry, I don't attack Gryffindors— off of the Quidditch pitch, anyway," Emma declared as she crossed her arms over her chest. She briefly stood on her tip-toe to get a look at the year's recruits. Three Gryffindors— that was new. "Looks like quite the crowd— excellent. I'll be showing you to the newsroom, and getting our printing press started. There's going to be a lot of fun this year, and I have no doubt we'll have trouble keeping up. Come on, now."

She turned on her heel, letting her brown ponytail toss over her hair. Over the years, she had learned that they would follow. After all, that was what Maddox told her before passing the reins to her this year. She wouldn't let him down.

* * *

Emma knew the path to the tower used to house the newsroom so well, her roommates sometimes had to stop her from sleepwalking to it. She took the key off of the golden chain around her neck, and unlocked the old wooden door. It opened, satisfyingly heavy to push— it knew the true weight of what they were doing here.

The torches lit as soon as the _Sleeping Dragon Chronicler's_ editor-in-chief walked through the door. Light and warmth spread from the shadows, welcoming the new staff of student journalists, and reminiscing with the old. Emma closed her eyes, letting the space of the place wash over her, its energy. All seven years at Hogwarts had passed far too quickly here. Starting with an ordeal with cursed ice— Emma shivered to remember when she was trapped there, only in her first year— she quickly fell in love with the paper and the people in it.

This was her last year. She would have to leave it come summer.

Her green eyes flashed open. Enough of that. She had work to do.

She whirled around as the old students entered, taking their places as easily as the statues of knights did, the new students carefully entering, as if they would become entranced and never want to leave, as so many of the students here did.

She grinned. "Welcome to the newsroom of the _Sleeping Dragon Chronicler_! This is where all of the magic happens." She looked to the row of desks. Tala Shafiq, Fiyero Warrington, Lorcan Rosier, Montague Albany, and Queenie Greengrass all tried to sit on a weathered love-seat that had long lost all of their colors.

The MacDougal sisters all sat around one chair, Katrina sitting on the chair, Isobel standing, and Morag on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest. They looked like the same witch at different ages, caught in different points in their life. The matching Ravenclaw uniforms certainly didn't help the matter.

The Marie siblings, Gianna Grace, William, and Alexis, on the other hand, all spread out, as if determined to not get within three feet of each other, lest their be explosions.

Arman Shettigar was already looking at the news printing equipment and typewriters, absent-mindedly polishing and fixing and adjusting.

Minty Hazelwood, Emma's star reporter, already had her notepad out and ready to go, her special purple pen in hand, the one with the ever-lasting ink that never hurt to grip.

Two of Potter's roommates, Fay Dunbar and Alice Tolipan, were stealing glances at Lorcan, and giggling like the twelve-year-old girls they were.

Terry Boot was quiet as ever, his eyes wide and ready to observe.

Andrew smiled at the recruits in his warm, inviting way— the one that Emma loved so much. "I believe we have some new members of the staff to introduce, don't we?"

First came a boy with a muggle camera around his neck. "My name is Colin Creevey— my dad's a muggle, but I really like newspapers, and I love taking photographs!"

"We need a good photographer," Emma agreed. "Such a pity that Davies graduated last year, wouldn't you say, Andrew?"

"Tis," Andrew agreed. "We're happy to have you here, Colin."

The boy practically glowed. Another, with curly hair, stepped up beside Colin.

"This is Nigel Wolport," Andrew explained.

"How nice to meet you," Emma said, nodding graciously.

Up next was a Ravenclaw girl with a butterbeer cork necklace. "My father writes for the _Quibbler_. You know, there aren't many nargles here."

"Pleased to be low on nargles," Emma said, although she wasn't quite sure what that meant. "Looks like you might want to talk to Tala— the Arts & Entertainment section can always use more crafts."

The girl glanced down at her necklace. "I suppose they could, couldn't they?"

"We could also stand to use our platform to advocate for creatures."

They all turned to see a deeply-tanned Hufflepuff with red hair. He grinned. "Name's Rolf. Rolf Scamander. My grandfather's Newt. I spend holiday with him and Gran every summer."

"It will be nice to see you, too," Emma said.

A Gryffindor girl stood there. "Hi, I'm Grainne Gryphon. It's nice to meet you all."

"You as well." If she was being honest, Emma found all of these to be repetitive, but she knew that it was important to greet everybody. After all, there was only one more new recruit left— it seemed a large portion had fled during the tour or immediate introductions.

Fine. Emma didn't need them, anyway.

The last one remaining was a Slytherin girl— second-year.

"I'm Sally-Anne Perks," she said. "And I'd like to write for you, if you'll have me."

Emma jumped at the voice. Despite her shy demeanor— her voice was rich, clear, smooth. Emma looked to Andrew. The mix of friendship and dating had resulted int them being able to read each other at a single glance.

This girl was perfect for the radio portion of their program.

Emma clapped her hands together. "Andrew and Arman are going to show you around the equipment! Editors, let's start brainstorming! We're going to make this the best year ever for the _Sleeping Dragon Chronicler_!"


	2. Staff Meeting

While Andrew faithfully showed the newbies the radio center, and the staff entertained themselves with the ideas of the coming year's October Edition, which they traditionally released on Halloween.

"Alright." Emma strode up to the chalkboard, and held up her wand, ready to write. "So, what are we going to do?"

"Well, we obviously need a teacher profile on Gilderoy Lockhart," Fiyero said. His knee was already jiggling, and his hands were tugging at his well-cuffed sleeves. "Especially since he's the most famous one we've had since Patricia Rakepick."

Ah, yes, Emma remembered the legendary Curse-Breaker's Defense lessons quite well.

"Excellent," she said, and she turned to the chalkboard, using her wand to write "Features— Teacher profiles."

"We could also cover the new broomsticks of the Slytherin Quidditch team," Katrina suggested.

"And we could do a story in Op/Ed about if it's even fair to let students bring their own broomstick anymore," William added.

"We should do that, we should've done that after Potter got a Nimbus 2000," Emma said with a rather distasteful look on her face. "They don't let people with Cleansweep 4s and Nimbus 2001s play in the same league at the professional levels. It's madness."

"Since when has Hogwarts ever been sane or logical?" Fiyero pointed out.

"Anyway!" Emma clapped her hands together. "We'll add that to the roster."

The chalkboard added "Sports— Slytherin Quidditch Team" and "Op/Ed- Debate: Is it fair to bring broomsticks?"

"We're doing a great job," Emma declared. "Of course, we'll cover the opening Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match."

"Queenie wouldn't forgive me if I didn't mention that the Wizegamot's Interscholastic Potions Contest begins tryouts later this month," Fiyero said.

"That's not a sport."

"Well, we don't really have anything else to cover in the Sports section other than Quidditch," Emma pointed out. "You argue this every year, William."

"I might put the articles in my section, but that doesn't mean I like it, or that it makes any sense." William crossed his arms over his chest.

"We're putting it in your section, and that's final." Emma wrote it on the chalkboard, a gesture that spoke volumes about the editor-in-chief's determination.

"We should probably do a story on the Whomping Willow," Montague mentioned.

"Thank you!" Katrina threw her hands up in the air in relief and excitement.

Emma frowned. "We can never get Potter to interview for anything."

"Well, to be fair, last year Madam Pomfrey barred you from coming in after the business beneath the school," Tala said.

"But before that, too—"

"Look, we'll try now," Katrina said. "But don't expect any magic, here."

Fiyero snorted.

"It wasn't that funny," William said.

"I think it was."

Montague shrugged. "It was."

"We're getting off-topic— come on, guys, focus," Emma said. "We want to be at least somewhat productive."

* * *

By the time Andrew returned downstairs, Emma was already printing out small slips of parchment with assignments on them.

He kissed Emma on the cheek as he received one. "Already done?"

"I'm running a tight ship this year," she said, handing one to an overeager Minty Hazelwood. The young Hufflepuff witch was practically bouncing in her new school loafers.

"Maddox would be proud." Andrew smiled and looked at his own slip of parchment. "Ah, nightly news. I'll invite Lee Jordan in again."

"Last time we did that, he ended up hexing you during the broadcast," Emma reminded him. "And you don't like Jordan."

"Yes, but the rest of the school does, and the audience might find his sports opinions to be vaguely entertaining," Andrew said. "I can get over my personal opinions for the sake of good journalism, and attracting students to the paper."

"I knew there was a reason I love you," Emma teased as she kissed him.

He always made a little _oop_ sound when she did. It only made her smile.

Which made him smile.

But it was time to be serious editor helpers again.

"Listen up, everyone!" He turned away from Emma. "Rough drafts are due in two weeks! We want the first issue to go off without a hitch! If you need help finding sources or editing, come talk to us editors! We're not the ones who bite, I promise."

He watched them all read over their assignments and begin chatting. He caught the eyes of some of the other seventh-year editors. This was it, the end. They wouldn't see their small but beloved newspapers again. They all had plans of their own.

Andrew, for one, was already corresponding with small radio shows still in production, looking for a voice. Luckily for him his Veela mother's charm carried perfectly across the airwaves in him. Whatever nonsense about Veela-human hybrids that were spread, like the rumor about mating— something he vehemently denied to Emma when they first began dating and she asked about it— he did in fact have a bit of magical charisma. Nothing like his mother, who could enchant anyone into doing anything without trying.

But he was convincing. Charming.

Add the right combination of words, and there was a new kind of magic there, one less appreciated by the denizens at Hogwarts.

As he looked back to Emma, though, he thought of his father's old pictures of his school days. He had a sweetheart coming out of school, but one magizoology trip to France changed all of that.

Were he and Emma doomed to be only school sweethearts, nothing more? Or would they last? He knew better than to ask questions he didn't want the answer to. But they lingered all the same. So much was coming and going.

But when Emma smiled at him, ecstatic in her work, he realized that some things never would change.

Hopefully their relationship would be one of those things.


	3. A Tale of Two Slytherins

"Thank you, Professor Lockhart, for agreeing to this interview," Queenie said as she followed the flamboyant man into his office. "We're excited to welcome yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to Hogwarts."

"Of course, of course!" He swept his baby blue robes around, causing a secondary sparkle effect to be activated. "Please sit, sit, Miss Greengrass, I'll get you tea and some biscuits from. Gladly Gludgeon, and I'll gladly sign my autograph for you!"

"That's nice, Professor Lockhart, but I was wondering if we could sit down to discuss the job," Queenie said as she pulled out her notepad. "From what I understand, you were chosen for the job for your many feats."

"Yes, in fact I was," Lockhart said, smiling so fiercely as he did so, that Queenie privately wondered if his face was stuck. "Defeated the Wolf of Wandsworth, and the Bandon Banshee, and I am the five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Best Smile contest!"

"I see," Queenie said, glancing down at her shorthand notes. "How has field work and work in the classroom been different?"

"I do rather miss the dashing adventures out of these walls," Lockhart said. "But I am always a few steps away from my hair products now, and the children are such darling angels."

"Would you say that the transition was easy?" Queenie asked, mostly for clarification.

"Easier than my hair product routine, which is sponsored by Dr. Sleekeazy," Lockhart declared.

"What happened with the Cornish pixies, then?"

"I beg your pardon?" Lockhart blinked, in lieu of expressing any other emotion, should it disrupt his smile.

"Well, you released Cornish pixies on the second-years, did you not?" Queenie asked.

"I did, to teach them right at the start, just how I learned," Lockhart said. "It was important that I think on my feet when I went up against the Gaddington Ghoul!"

"That is admirable, Professor," Queenie lied. "How many years of experience would you say you've acquired in the field?"

"Twenty, although I certainly don't look it," Lockhart answered, preening again.

"I see." Queenie winked, although she could hear her mother's voice in her head, instructing her to tone it down a little more. "Would you say, given the content of your books, that you have a lot of experience with magical creatures?"

"Why, I don't mean to undermine magizoologists like your teacher and Newton Scamander, but they are also woefully lacking in experience, they just don't realize that the creatures are not to be reasoned with." Lockhart shook his head. "Which is such a pity, since my greatest wish is for peace between all peoples and creatures in this world. I believe you got that question right on my quiz, Miss Greengrass."

"I did," Queenie said. "With twenty years of experience, specializing in dark magical creatures, could you explain why Hermione Granger was the only one in your classroom that knew what to do about said Cornish pixies?"

Lockhart blushed. "It was just an adustment, it is so different, working in such a confined space!"

Queenie nodded, and looked down at her pad to hide the smirk on her face. She adored catching others in a lie— and Lockhart had a web of them.

"Just a few more questions, and then we'll be done," Queenie promised. "First, what was your House in school?"

* * *

"Professor, I understand that you in particular were very upset about the Whomping Willow being damaged by the Flying Car," Lorcan said. Surrounding him and the professor were bottles of glimmering jeweled potions, as Snape brewed a fire-breathing potion.

"Harry Potter believes he can just break all of the rules because of his unearned fame," Snape drawled. "He does not respect or understand the history and importance of that tree, or the consequences of his actions, for that matter. He suffers from the same large head as his ridiculous father, and always will. He deserved to be thrown out of the school, not given a slap on the wrist."

"You knew James Potter?" Lorcan nearly dropped his notebook in surprise.

"Do not repeat that name, or I will strike all of my commentary from the record, Rosier," Snape sneered.

"Of course, Professor, sir," Lorcan said. "Is there anything else that we ought to know about the Whomping Willow incident?"

"I believe that is all I am permitted to discuss, Rosier," Snape said. "Now, leave me before I think better of contributing to Miss Vanity's pedantic paper."

Lorcan bit his lip, catching a snarl of rage in his throat. "Yes sir."

He perhaps slammed the door to Snape's office shut a bit harder than was strictly necessary. He threw his notebook against the stone dungeon wall, and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe normally.

Lorcan didn't think of himself as an angry person. But it enraged him when Snape dismissed and insult the _Sleeping Dragon Chronicler_. It wasn't fair.

So many students in Slytherin would live and die the same way their parents did— decent grades, spitting Death Eater rhetoric as they spoke politics. They would do nothing but live off of their family's money, and create little clones.

For so long, that looked like it would be Lorcan's own fate. To become exactly like his father, and just like all of the other kids in Slytherin.

But Emma and Andrew recommended that he join the newspaper— they took a chance on him. He met Queenie and Montague— and he changed.

Merlin, he changed.

Now, in his N.E.W.T. Classes, he was putting effort into learning the Charms that would serve him well in the line of work at the _Daily Prophet_. He was going to do something far greater than sit around in pretty robes in a gilded manor.

He had a best friend who was a half-blood, and a crush on a girl who was a blood-traitor.

He no longer saw muggle-horns as the scum of the Earth, because he had worked with so many of them in the three years he'd worked on the paper before.

It saved him, Lorcan knew that much. To hear his Head of House dismiss the very thing that saved his soul made him feel a fire in his blood, threatening to consume him in a single second.

"Funny, finding you here."

Lorcan opened his eyes and exhaled slowly, seeing Queenie standing there, holding up his notebook.

"Think you dropped this," Queenie said. "Take it that the interview with Snape didn't go well, then."

"No, it went well," Lorcan said, accepting the book. "It's just—"

"Snape was Snape about our paper," Queenie finished, as she started walking towards the stairs. She gestured for Lorcan to follow. "I completely understand. He's just a prick, that's all."

"Too bad he has no intention of leaving this school," Lorcan said. "He doesn't even like children!"

"I don't know what his deal is," Queenie admitted. "But anyway, I thought we should drop by and see Montague. He's holding the fort with Alice, right now, since there isn't a Hogsmeade visit till next weekend."

"I suppose that would be alright." He liked how she seemed to understand him so seamlessly. Really, it was the three of them, he Queenie, and Montague. Mirrors of one another, they were not perfect reflections, but close enough that they would always understand one another, despite their exterior differences.

"My interview with Lockhart went well," Queenie added, as they entered the main floor of Hogwarts.

"I was about to ask," Lorcan said hastily. "I figured it, had, though, or you wouldn't have waited so long to tell me."

"The man has no experience, but he's a really terrible liar," Queenie said, applying some of her perfect pink lipstick. "Awful. I have no idea how no one hasn't figured it out before. The man let Cornish pixies loose indoors."

"And that's bad because?" Even in heels, Queenie was so much faster than him, a physical reminder of how, in some ways, she was too good for him.

Her smile now reminded him of their house's symbol. "Cornish pixies should never be let inside ever."

"How did you figure that one?"

"Rolf told me, I did a little background research before the interview." Queenie flipped her curly blonde ponytail that seemed causal, but still revealed the depth of her pride. "And the man claimed that Newt Scamander had no field experience."

Lorcan found himself laughing. "No one told him about the war against Grindelwald, then?"

Queenie laughed too, a light and airy sound. "I suppose not. When are people going to learn that it would be best to tell the truth?"

"The same day they figure out how clever you really are," Lorcan said, admiration in his tone.

They began ascending the stairs, and there was something vulnerable in Queenie's pale verdegreen eyes.

"It's not easy, you know, playing the beautiful fool," she said. "Especially when everyone wants you to be some prissy pretty pureblood, like a wand made of cherry."

"Hasn't Fiyero told you?" Lorcan asked, the similarities converging in his mind.

"Told me what?" Queenie asked.

"About the symbolism of cherry Wands?" Lorcan asked. "It's really fascinating, you'll have to ask him."

"Maybe I will." She stopped before the door to the newsroom. "Then again, maybe I'd prefer it if you told me."

Oh, his heart. She could be so coy sometimes, without even knowing it. That was how she and her sisters and aunts and outings and mother was— effortlessly coy and charming.

"After you." He opened the door for her.

"Thank you." She dipped her head in a slight bow before continuing into the old newsroom.

Inside, Montague sat at his editing desk with Alice Tolipan, the two of them analyzing piles of color swatches on the desk.

"Oh," he said, rising so fast that he knocked most of the colors off of his desk. "You're back! Excellent! We were having a hard time selecting which color palette to go with, for the October issue."

He and the red-headed second-year Gryffindor ducked and fished around for the scraps, before reassembling the palettes on Montague's desk.

"I like the one with the burgundy and gold," Queenie said. "It's noncommittal— towards the houses. And it reminds me of what I love most about the fall— the colors."

"I was leaning towards the purple, orange, and the black," Lorcan confessed.

Queenie wrinkled her delicate nose in disgust. "Reminds me too much of the Chudley Cannons colors, if we're being honest. The other one isn't so. . . Obnoxious."

Alice looked rather crestfallen, but Montague grinned. "I suppose that other one wasn't our best work, was it?"

"We just saved you from Emma's wrath, had you chosen the other," Lorcan teased.

"We were wondering if you wanted to go, sit by the lake," Queenie said. "Tala might need our help photographing the Willow, so she was going to repay us with some of her Nani's baked goods."

"I'm coming," Montague said, standing up. He glanced back at Alice. "Mind protecting our newsroom? Last year, the Gryffindors were such pricks, they trashed the entire place."

"Did you see what Maddox Findlay did to those poor bastards?" Lorcan shook his head. "Those kids were in the hospital wing for about as long as he was in detention."

Alice sighed sarcastically. "Fine, leave me to be attacked. I know I'm expendable here."

"Don't worry, you're making yourself an invaluable member of the team," Queenie assured her.

"Get out of here," Alice said, making an airy gesture. "I need to clean up this big oaf's mess anyway."

Lorcan and Queenie hollered in excitement as they put their arms around their friend and left the tower.


	4. An Interview with Lee Jordan

Broadcast date: September 22nd, 1992 (7:30 PM)

Transcribed by: Andrew Snowy-Owl

Interviewer: Candice Beaumont

[There is the scraping of a chair as Lee Jordan scoots forward. Never mind that he, as a man known for his voice, should know the importance of not making such irritating sounds on air.]

 **CANDICE:** Welcome to the Voice of the Dragon, Hogwarts! We're here, interviewing a prominent member of the student body. I'm your current host, Candice Beaumont, and I hope you'll enjoy this evening.

[There is a muffled rustling of papers as Candice checks her notes.]

 **CANDICE:** Everyone knows our guest. He's been voicing the Quidditch games for two years now, at every game. You know him as Lee Jordan.

 **LEE:** Thank you, Beaumont. Say, where's Snowy-Owl? Doesn't he usually do these radio things?

 **CANDICE:** [A feigned coughing sound can be heard. It is her attempt at being polite.] Feeling a bit under the weather, I'm afraid. [Thanks for lying for me, Candice!]

 **LEE:** Pity.

 **CANDICE:** Indeed. Let's start, shall we?

 **LEE:** [He laughs like the arrogant twit that he is.] Let's play, then.

 **CANDICE:** [Don't giggle like that, Candice! He already thinks that everyone is in love with him!] Let's! [She looks through her notes again and I'm regretting letting her handle this.] So, you started as a third-year— what made you decide to start hosting Quidditch games?

 **LEE:** I dunno, I suppose I just liked the idea of being part of the fun part of Quidditch. Anyone can play the sport. But only one man on this campus can get the audience excited over one of the most complex sports in the world.

 **CANDICE:** And that's you, I presume? [Go Candice!]

 **LEE:** Who else would it be? Snowy-Owl? [He laughs again, and I'm resisting the urge to storm into the recording booth and hex him right there. This is why I forced a Hufflepuff to do this! He— (redacted by Editor-in-Chief)]

 **CANDICE:** [Her tone is colder than the nights in the Scottish winter] Maybe don't insult the person who's giving you access to the _Dragon's Voice_ station. Look, let's keep going. So, have you learned anything new about the sport that you wouldn't have if you hadn't started announcing it?

 **LEE:** It's really hard to make it sound new and interesting and exciting sometimes. Not like the news, although you wouldn't know it with—

[There is a sound of headphones being thrown to the desk with a clatter and someone shoving their chair back. Faintly, Candice is saying "I'm done, I can't do this!" I'd like to make an edict that we never let Lee Jordan back into the radio station. Emma, come on! (The Editor-in-Chief approves these edicts. No one talks to her baby like that.)]


	5. Minty’s Revenge

Minty couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was little Colin Creevey, laid out on the hospital bed, frozen. There was still color to his cheeks, albeit slightly faded, but his skin was as hard as stone when her hand brushed up against it. The smell of burnt camera film churned her stomach. But it wasn’t the only reason that Minty Hazelwood felt sick.

“He came up to get an interview and photographs with Potter, for the sports section,” William Marie murmured as he looked upon the face of the now-Petrified reporter. “I’d sent him there, I hadn’t realized he’d do it so late at night, after visitors were restricted—-I should have realized that there was something dangerous about, should’ve done it myself—“

“You think that this is your fault?” Minty raised an eyebrow.

“I should be there,” William said glumly.

“I think we’re forgetting someone who we ought to blame,” Emma said as she strode into the hospital wing. “I think you’re forgetting the culprit, the Heir of Slytherin and their monster.”

“So you think it is true, then?” Andrew turned to Emma. “You think that Slytherin really did hide a monster in the castle?”

“I don’t know about that part,” Emma admitted, stopping at the foot of Colin Creevey’s bed. “But the Heir of Slytherin—or at least, someone who believes themselves to be the Heir—I fully believe that’s real now. This is serious dark magic, to Petrify Creevey and take out one of our good cameras with it.”

Minty could hear the bitterness in the Editor-in-Chief’s words, especially regarding the destruction of one of their fabled good cameras.

It was strange, how this year was supposed to be unlike last year and the years before—no more Cursed Vaults, no more hidden treasure in the castle. Gilderoy Lockhart, a celebrity, was supposed to be teaching them Defense Against the Dark Arts. Other than Potter and Weasley making their grand appearance and Lockhart turning out to be a complete and utter moron, it was supposed to be a good year.

Then Halloween had come and Mrs. Norris had been Petrified with that warning in blood smeared all over the walls. Fine, Minty had thought—someone was playing an awful, vicious prank but Mrs. Norris would recover when the mandrakes were grown. The little idiot who had done it wasn’t caught, but surely it was some kid that got a little too caught up in the Hallow’s Eve spirit and the student body’s unified hatred for Filch’s cat. Surely no one else was in danger?

The Quidditch game had been bad enough, with the rogue Bludger and Lockhart once again displaying his brilliance and deflating Potter’s arm instead of re-growing it. But if anything, Minty suspected that the Slytherin team had merely tried a dirty trick, and it wouldn’t happen again. Potter would live and recover, and indeed, he was out of the hospital wing before Creevey was.

Surely that had been just the normal risks and dangerous pranks done by teenagers with magic and still-developing frontal lobes?

But even Minty, for all her skepticism and determined optimism to for once have a good year, could not deny that things were bad if this had happened to Creevey. Not just because Colin Creevey was one of their own, as a reporter for the Sleeping Dragon Chronicler. No, because he was a first-year, just a kid who had been curious and doing his job—and someone had very clearly tried to kill him for it. He’d see something that he wasn’t supposed to see and whoever was behind the strange occurrences at Hogwarts had tried to silence him for it.

Minty glanced at the Editor-in-Chief, the Sports Editor, and a few others from the paper standing around Creevey’s bed. It wouldn’t be long before Madam Pomfrey returned from her office and started shooing them out. After all, it wasn’t like Colin could perceive his visitors, and it was just cluttering up the hospital wing.

But there were no jokes, no sarcasm from Emma or any of the other traditional snarky banter between the Editors of the Sleeping Dragon Chronicler. No, this was something far beyond what they normally reported on or dealt with. Minty was reminded of the year that she had first come to Hogwarts, three years ago, when the Cursed Vaults were still causing all of that trouble.

All her life, Minty had heard that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was supposed to be the safest place in the world for young witches and wizards. There were supposed to be adults that looked after them, that would teach them how to use their magic properly and help them clean up their mistakes when they didn’t, so no one got hurt.

Too many people recently, Minty realized, had gotten hurt at Hogwarts. It was far from a safe place—the farthest, Minty was starting to believe. She wasn’t side-eyeing her peers at home, in Godric’s Hollow. She wasn’t going to sleep every night wondering what curse would be unleashed or wondering what was behind the door that promised her a certain, painful death.

A part of her knew that if she wrote to her mother and father now, Mr. and Madam Hazelwood would demand that she return home at once and continue her education there for the rest of the year, with the threat of sending her off to Durmstrang or perhaps some small start-up witches’ academy close to London.

But she couldn’t leave, not now. Minty had friends here, friends who would stay in danger even if she left.

She was never a brave girl—the Hat had not even considered Gryffindor as an option upon her Sorting, and Hufflepuff and Slytherin had been the Hat’s main choices. But she was a Hufflepuff, loyal and true—and she could not abandon Hogwarts now.

Someone needed to get to the bottom of this, Minty realized. Well, she had a pen. She was a good investigative journalist. She would wield her pen like a weapon and take out whomever had dared to hurt one of her friends and comrades at the Sleeping Dragon Chronicler.


End file.
